Of a Lifetime
by Strawberry Shortcake123
Summary: Their partnership is over, but they cannot let it end this way. Tiva smut. Set immediately after 5x19, Judgment Day (Part II). Twoshot.
1. Part One

**Welcome to my second attempt at smut. I'm just going to preface this with a little reminder that if you're a young'un, you should probably skip it. Just use your judgment, okay? I trust ya'll to do what's best for you.**

The three of them sit in their respective desk chairs, but they are not working, not talking. McGee stares into his lap and Tony taps his fingers against his keyboard. Ziva has her chin propped in her hand as she alternates between watching her teammates and Vance's closed office door. By now, it's been ten minutes since Gibbs sent them away, yet still they wait.

She purses her lips and shifts her attention back to Tony, only to find that he's already looking at her. One corner of his mouth quirks upward in an attempt at a reassuring smile. She knows her partner well, though, and she can read his true feelings in his eyes. He doesn't believe for one second that Gibbs will be able to convince the director to keep the team intact.

She doesn't, either.

McGee nervously breaks the silence. "What do you think they're talking about?"

"Are you serious right now, Probie?" Tony snaps. "I'm pretty sure they're not discussing the weather."

"I meant-"

"It is okay, McGee," Ziva says with a warning glance at Tony. "We know what you meant."

Nobody speaks. She tries not to think too much, because then her thoughts will be of Israel, of Mossad, of travel arrangements that need to be made… and, perhaps worst of all, she will think about the man across from her and the fact that his flight leaves tomorrow morning.

He has been reassigned, and she is going home.

This is it for them.

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She is not surprised when Gibbs comes back downstairs, slams some files down on his desk, and then stands there, face bright red with anger. What does surprise her (and, she can tell, Tony and McGee), is the words that come from his mouth.

"I'm sorry," their boss says, breaking rule twenty-six.

For a split second, Ziva thinks she might become physically ill, because Gibbs is going against his own rules. And that, more than anything, is an indication that something is _wrong._

"Not your fault, Boss." Tony puts on a mask of confidence, a brave face that she recognizes. It was often used during that summer he was team leader; more recently, she saw it in Los Angeles after they discovered Jenny's body.

Never has she been fooled by it.

Deciding that it is time to face facts, Ziva roots around behind her desk until she locates an empty cardboard box. She sets it flat on the ground and begins tossing her personal belongings inside.

"Guess I should pack up, too," McGee sighs.

"I'm not packing," Tony announces stubbornly, crossing his arms.

Ziva refrains from ridicule and allows her eyes to dart over toward him. He cocks a brow, challenging her, but she lifts her chin and does not comment.

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She stares at the wall of the elevator as it descends to the lobby for the last time with her in it. Beside her, Tony stands, tense and silent. They have just said their goodbyes to the others, and she, at least, is already emotionally exhausted. Abby was in tears and everybody else (besides Gibbs, of course) looked close to it; she eventually had to remove herself before she broke down, as well.

Tony followed her. It makes sense, she supposes, that their farewell would be private- there are so many things left unsaid, and although they are probably not _going_ to be said now, the sheer gravity of them demands its own space.

The elevator stops and its doors _whoosh_ open. She starts forward, box under one arm, before she feels it being tugged away. Turning around, she utters the first words spoken since they left the rest of their team. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying this for you."

"Why?"

Tony sighs, exasperated, and nudges her forward with his elbow. "Can't a guy help his partner out?"

"We are not partners anymore," Ziva says without thinking, and then immediately regrets it. Biting her bottom lip, she glances over at him. He appears stricken, as if he is receiving this news for the first time.

"Yeah," he mutters. "I know."

Her words have made this whole situation just a bit more real, and there has been a shift in the atmosphere. She leads the way to her car; once there, she stands to the side and watches him toss the box into the back. The door shuts with a sound of finality, and then the dreaded moment is upon them.

Tony regards her for several seconds with his mouth slightly open. She understands; she cannot decide which words to use, either. In the end, it is he who steps forward and slips his arms around her waist. She returns the hug, rests her head against his chest, listens to the steady beat of his heart. All she says is, "Take care of yourself, Tony."

"You too," he replies. They continue to hold each other, resolving absolutely nothing but taking some comfort in the contact anyway.

Then she gets in her car and drives away, frustrated and unsatisfied and with the distinct impression that he is in the same state.

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At home, the first thing she does is change out of her funeral clothes. She pulls on jeans and a loose t-shirt instead, then yanks drawers out of her dresser and sets about stuffing their contents into a suitcase. As she works, she takes a mental inventory of which of her possessions should be brought on the plane, which should be shipped to Israel, and which should be left behind. The thought of leaving this apartment makes her a little nostalgic. It and this life in America are perhaps the closest she has come to building her own home. But all that is gone now. It is over.

She fills three suitcases to take on the plane, then somehow manages to drag them all to the living room at once. Everything is set just inside the front door. Ziva turns her back on the evidence of her impending departure and goes to the kitchen, where she pours a tall glass of water.

What is that American saying? Something about a glass's fullness. It is usually phrased as a question, actually- is the glass half empty or half full?

She is not entirely sure what that means, but she would still guess empty.

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Two hours, multiple phone calls, and some shuffling around later, she is ready to go. Most of the furniture she needs shipped has been moved into one part of the apartment, she has a flight for the next day, and her less essential belongings have been placed on the couch to be sent over with it. There is one book sitting on the kitchen table (which belongs to the landlord); that will serve as her entertainment for the rest of the time she is here. Standing there and taking in her entire condensed world- a world she just recently began creating- is strange and not especially pleasant.

There is a loud, urgent knock on the door, which startles her enough that she jumps. She crosses the room, rises up on her tiptoes to peer through the peephole. And gasps.

"What are you doing here?" she demands when she opens the door. Tony looks directly at her, unapologetic. Despite the tone of her voice and the fact that there will now have to be another painful separation, she is sort of glad to see him.

"I couldn't let it end like that," he says slowly.

"It is going to have to _end_," Ziva says.

"Yeah. But… not like that."

And then his hands are on either side of her face and his mouth is on hers and she should be pushing him away but, instead, is tugging him closer and closer, as close as physically possible. She maneuvers them so that they are fully inside the apartment and uses her foot to kick the door shut. Tony pins her against it and coaxes her lips apart with his tongue at the same time, deepening their kiss. She strokes his chin, and the texture of slight stubble is enough to make her intoxicated and in need of more. More of this. More of him.

Tony breaks away, then ducks his head to nuzzle her neck. "Can I stay?" he whispers.

_No. No, you cannot. No, we both have places to go tomorrow. No, this will just make everything harder._

"Yes," she says.

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He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her temples, her lips again. She tugs and combs through his short strands of hair. His wandering hand slips beneath the hem of her shirt and skims across her belly, up her abdomen. She practically melts as he cups her breast, but he must not have anticipated her being without a bra, because he exhales sharply into her mouth when skin meets skin. Ziva arches toward his palm, encouraging him to recover from his surprise. Quickly enough, he does. He begins to massage the area around her nipple with skillful ministrations, and she bites his lower lip just once before she feels his erection grounding into her hip and allows her head to fall back against the door. And suddenly, she really, _really_ would like to skip all of this… but then again, his fingers are doing amazing things to her breast, and now they are moving to the other one, and she decides that she does not mind this pace.

Tony kneads, lips anchored to her neck. She gives herself another couple moments to enjoy the fruits of his labor before pushing his jacket off of his shoulders- it drops unceremoniously to the ground- and then undoing his belt. Lightly, she strokes him through his pants. He growls.

"Tony," she murmurs, tilting her head so that he can nibble on her earlobe, "what is this?"

He looks up, but his hands keep stroking lightly along her bare skin. She stares into his serious face, searching for any hint of an answer.

"This is us," he finally says, "coming to our senses."

Ziva knows what he means. He means that they are going to break this tension that has existed between them for the past three years, that they will stop squelching their mutual desire for each other.

In that way, they _are_ coming to their senses.

But there is another way in which they are being very, very foolish.

"Tomorrow," she says, "we are both leaving."

Tony removes one hand from beneath her shirt and lifts it to her face. He runs his thumb gently along her cheekbone; between that and the look of adoration he fixes her with, she feels like a prized gem.

"I know," he whispers, "and we're probably never gonna see each other again. And that's why- that's _why_, Ziva, we have to make this memory tonight. It's gotta be… we gotta make it last a lifetime."

Slowly, _very _slowly, he grasps the bottom of her t-shirt. She lifts her arms so he can pull it over her head, and then he tosses it away as she stands in front of him with her shoulders and breasts and the entire expanse of her stomach completely exposed.

"You're gorgeous," he continues softly, and her torso erupts in gooseflesh. "I _want_ you. I want all of you. I want to memorize every single inch of your body, and I want to remember it for the rest of my life."

Tears burn the backs of her eyes as she takes him in. Then she steps forward and practically falls into the arms of her partner, her best friend, her love that was doomed from the start.

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Ziva starts with the top button on his shirt and then undoes them all, one at a time, her fingers trembling just a bit. He holds onto her hips until he needs to pull the sleeves off of his arms; once the shirt has been discarded, he picks her up in one fluid, smooth motion. She yelps in surprise, but clamps her legs around his waist and bows her head to kiss him. Their mouths mold together like they were created solely for that purpose. The kiss is full of renewed passion, novel sweetness. Tony repeatedly draws back, clearly with the intention of speaking, but she does not allow it, and he is not complaining when she cuts him off.

Eventually, a need for oxygen overrides her wishes. While they catch their breath, he gasps, "You moved all your stuff."

Her brain is moving at a leisurely pace right now, and it takes her a few seconds to understand the significance of that statement. "The bed is in my room," she tells him. "There is only a sheet on it."

"Good enough for me."

Tony starts in the direction of her bedroom, hands on her ass to keep her upright. She rests her cheek against his and strokes his biceps as they wind through the hall, turn into the open doorway. Another two seconds, and she is being lowered onto the bed. Her legs fall from around him and drape over the side, toes barely touching the floor. He stands over her and undoes the button on her jeans, then the zipper, and gently tugs them down her legs. When he crouches down and disappears, Ziva redirects her gaze to the ceiling. She feels her pants slide over her feet, and then his hot mouth is on her knee, gently caressing the skin. He kisses up the inside of her thigh, causing her to dig her nails into the mattress beneath her as he gets closer and closer to where she really wants him to be. Three inches short, he pauses.

"What?" she groans.

"Tattoo?" he asks, half teasing, half enamored, and skims his fingers over it. She looks down, shifts her leg so she can see the Hebrew script.

"Mhmm," she murmurs, threading her fingers through his hair and pressing his face against the tattoo. Tony kisses it twice and, thankfully, moves on. _Finally_, he reaches the junction between her legs and flicks his tongue over her moist panties. She makes a little sound of contentment low in her throat, closes her eyes as he rids her of the fabric. Ziva can feel his gaze raking over her completely naked form, his hand tracing the curve of her side, and wonders what he is stopping for.

She brings her feet onto the edge of her bed and spreads her legs wide in an attempt at a nonverbal cue, but he does not take the hint. Instead, he sits down on top of her, the material of his slacks smooth against her flesh, and then his hot breath washes over her face.

Ziva lifts her eyelids halfway. His are down. "What are you doing?"

"Memorizing you," he whispers, kissing the top of her forehead and then working his way down. He peppers her ears and neck and shoulders with kisses, travels to her hand and back up her arm, covers the length of her collarbone. She arches her back as he suckles one breast and then the other; too soon, he is moving on. Once again, he almost, _almost_ arrives at her preferred destination… but stops, keeping his lips at her waist.

All her patience gone, she bucks her hips and turns them both over so that she is seated atop his thighs. Tony stares up at her, seeming almost dazed. She unbuttons his pants in a businesslike fashion; while he kicks them to the side, she yanks down his boxers as well.

Now their bodies are totally bared to each other, and they are on level ground.

Ziva takes his throbbing length in her hand, squeezes, grins at his moan. She rolls it skillfully between two fingers and drops her thumb down to rub his tip. He throws his head back, thrusting into her hand, and she cannot help feeling delighted about the response she is eliciting from him. Looking to increase his arousal, she draws his balls into her grasp and massages them as well. Tony allows it; he hardens and tightens until he suddenly grabs her hand. "Ziva," he gasps, "stop."

"Why?" she asks, surprised. Her fingers still.

"Don't wanna come," he breathes out raggedly. "Not yet."

Understanding dawns on her, and she leans up to kiss him sweetly, fiddling with his chest hair. One of his hands caresses her back and the other holds her head; their mouths effortlessly becomes one. She is no longer in a rush. She is happy to take her time.

Tony pulls away, drops a kiss on the end of her nose, and rolls her onto her back. He settles on the mattress between her legs. Ziva bites her lip in anticipation, does not complain when he stalls by kneading her thigh muscles a couple of times.

And then his fingers slide through her slick folds, and it is all she can do not to gasp at the sensation of his warmth against her core. She holds onto the sheet beneath her but still refuses to make a single utterance. He works her as if he has done this a million times before- and clearly, he has, but this is different. This is not the same thing they have done with others; certainly, no man has ever made her legs quiver the way they are now. Some (unidentifiable) element of this interaction is unique to Tony and Ziva.

He dips two fingers inside her, and _that _prompts a tiny whimper. "Oh."

She is embarrassed, but he is focusing and does not appear to have heard her. He finds her clit and begins rubbing in clockwise circles, trying to loosen her up. Ziva tastes blood as her teeth dig ever deeper into her lower lip, but she is unrelenting. She will not make another sound.

That is, until she gasps, "Now."

And, good partner that he is, Tony seems to recognize that this is not up for discussion. He stretches out above her, aligns their bodies, and then guides himself into her.

Ziva rests her hands on his broad shoulders and takes a moment to feel him, full and heavy, inside her. Then she starts slowly rotating her hips at the same time he does. With steadily increasing speed, he burrows deeper into her, pushing her toward the edge of the cliff. She makes every attempt to welcome him in further so she can finally fall; she thrusts her pelvis into the air, winds her arms tightly around him and holds him close. Tony's features are screwed up in concentration as he fills her the best he can. It takes longer than she feels it should, and just as she is about to cry out in frustration, she feels the first wave of heat roll through her and cries out in ecstasy instead. Every bone and muscle in her body turns to little more than mush; if she were standing, she would have collapsed already.

Again and again, she is overtaken, and soon, it is too much. She squeezes her eyes shut. His forehead falls against hers at the exact moment that he spills into her; they ride out their orgasms together, shaking and rocking and practically melting. As they start to wind down, a tear leaks out of the corner of her eye. Tony kisses it away.

"I gotcha," he whispers into her ear, and he sounds so sweet and caring and _sincere_, and his arms cradle her carefully, as if she is glass. As if she is precious.

Tony shifts and falls out of her, then takes her face in his hands. Ziva blinks a couple of times. She is relaxed. All she wants to do is watch the contentment in his expression mirror her own.

"That was," he murmurs, ducking his head and continuing to speak into the crook of her neck, "worth every damn second we put it off."

She cannot form words yet, so she mewls in agreement.

"And that's gonna stick with me, Ziva," he adds quietly, almost reverently. "For the rest of my life."

"It will stay with me, too," she manages. The ache between her legs and in her breasts and abdomen will fade, yes, but she will not forget about it, and she will not forget about Tony DiNozzo and the way he made her feel on the one night they had together.

**Part Two will be up in a few days. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Part Two

Ziva awakes with the first rays of the sun. She moves a mass of hair out of her eyes and blinks a couple times before registering that she is on her side in the middle of her bed without a blanket or a stitch of clothing. Somebody is pressed up against her back, and now she remembers that it is Tony, and she recalls what they did.

She rolls over to face him. His arm that had been around her waist changes positions and settles on her stomach instead. He is sound asleep, which she is glad for. She needs a moment to grasp the fact that she has fallen even more in love with him because of last night and that, even so, nothing has changed. _Nothing_.

They still have separate planes to catch.

They are still never going to see each other again.

She raises her fingers to his face and allows them to ghost over his cheek. When he lets out a small snore, reassuring her that he is not yet awake, she rests her entire palm against his warm skin. He subconsciously nuzzles into her hand, and for just a split second, she thinks that she might cry.

Ziva forces herself to turn onto her back and stare at nothing but the ceiling. She does hold the hand that rests on her abdomen while she becomes lost in her thoughts of dread. How much time passes like this, she does not know. At some point, though, Tony squeezes her hand, hard.

She glances over to find his eyes wide open and focused intently on her face. For a full three seconds, they hold that gaze, and then she whispers, "Hello."

"Hi." He leans down to press his swollen lips against hers. When he pulls away, he brings their joined hands to his chest. "How are you?" he asks quietly.

Ziva can hardly turn her focus away from the feel of his heartbeat beneath her flesh long enough to respond. "I am… okay."

Tony nods, seeming to get it. "I'm okay, too." He lowers his head and begins placing kisses in the valley between her breasts. When he gently cups one of them as well, her core tightens.

"What are you doing?" she asks weakly.

He draws the breast into his mouth, and her nipple quickly erects itself. His tongue swirls around it. Just as quickly as he was there, he is gone, resting his chin on her chest and peering up at her. "Making the most of our morning."

After one more hard, longing kiss, he rolls her onto her stomach. As she lies there, hands flat on the bed and cheek resting against them, she watches Tony out of the corner of her eye. He sits beside her, eyes raking over her bare backside. Observing. Processing.

Then he gathers her hair in one fist and moves it all over her shoulder. Cool air assaults her newly exposed skin. She puts her forehead down on the mattress and turns all of her senses on hyper alert so she knows what he is doing. For a few seconds, she has no idea; then he is not quite lying on top of her, but rather hovering over her. She can feel that he is already hard, and she moves her hips backward in order to bounce her ass off of his stiffness. There is nothing she wants more right now than for him to be pulsing inside of her.

"Tony," she grunts, trying to turn back over. He puts both hands on her spine to hold her where she is, then begins kissing her shoulder blades, her vertebrae. Ziva is impatient- they do not have much _time_- but the sensation of his soft butterfly kisses causes her to relax a little nonetheless. He seems to cover every square inch of her back; then he lightly licks from her waist down her thigh and to her ankle. He travels back up, the tongue strokes morphing into kisses. There is a dull ache in her abdomen as he nears the area between her legs, and her desire for him is such that she finds the strength to toss him off of her.

They bounce as they land in a heap on the mattress. Ziva reclines on her pillow and looks up at his flushed face. He looks energized, rejuvenated, up for anything.

And _oh_, they should not do this again. It is already going to be so hard when he has to leave, but all those things he said about this being their one and only chance to make memories together are echoing through her mind, and before she has made a conscious decision, she is bringing her knees into the air and spreading her legs apart.

"You know where I want you," she says hoarsely, and he does not hesitate to go there.

Ziva watches him kneel at the foot of her bed. He lowers his head so she can only see the top of it, and it registers that he is going to use his mouth. Her center is already throbbing when his tongue begins probing through her heat. He works rhythmically, opening his mouth wide against her, then closing it slowly. The tantalizing pressure of his tasting is almost more than she can bear already, but she keeps quiet and reaches down to tug on his hair. Soon, he finds her pleasure area. She gasps at his first stroke of it and pulls his head into her. As he continues working, her hips begin to rock back and forth. Tony grabs them to still her and keeps going, bringing her nearer and nearer to where she wants to be. A strangled cry rips from her throat. "_Tony_."

He understands. He comes up for air, shoots her a reassuring smile, and then slips two fingers inside her. Ziva bucks against his hand, muscles contracting in an attempt to pull him in further. For a moment, Tony experiments, and then he finds an angle that causes her to wet his fingers. He continues to work, but it is not enough. "Harder," she says desperately. "Right _there. _There, Tony. There."

"Shh," he orders gently, raising his eyes to look at her. They are clear and unclouded. He keeps rubbing her the way she wants, holding her gaze… and then he withdraws his hand and ducks down. Ziva is about to snap at him to _finish her off _already, but then his tongue is on her again. He presses it to her top and flicks it rapidly downward. When he hits her sensitive bundle of nerves and increases the force he is exerting, she finally gets there.

She screams as her vision blurs and she falls slack against the mattress. Everything in her body turns to putty. Tony crawls up to her side and takes her shaking body in his arms, and she buries her face into his chest as she rides out the last of this explosive, one-of-a-kind orgasm he has given her.

"You're okay," he whispers, caressing her lower back.

"I know," she says, still curled weakly against him. She takes a couple of deep breaths before drawing away. His hand hooks around her thigh, and in one fast movement, he has pulled her on top of him.

Tony rakes his fingers through her hair- straight yesterday, but by now, it has reverted back to its natural curls. "And you're beautiful."

She is not thinking when she responds. She is looking at him, at the silly grin gracing his lips, at the flushed joy of his cheeks, and the words just come out. "So are you."

As soon as she says it, she grimaces, but he laughs fondly and pulls her down for a kiss. "Thanks," he murmurs against her mouth, "but can I be handsome instead? Or hot?"

"Sure."

"Which one?"

"Both." Ziva gives him another kiss, and then she sits up and shimmies down his body with the resolution to reward him. As he watches curiously, she leans over and wraps her mouth around his erection.

Tony groans loudly. "Ziva."

"Shh," she hisses against him, prompting a shudder. She very, very slowly slides down and then back up and then down again. He is so hard, so heavy, that she feels like she might choke, but she is determined to finish this. At his tip, she flicks her tongue out to trace it, and his thigh muscles clench where she is balancing her elbows on them.

As she moves back up his shaft, she kneads one of his balls, then the other. Tony says her name with so much desire that she thinks _she_ might come again just by hearing it. However, she must focus on him right now. She continues to suck at his length, occasionally blowing a bit as a supplement, and makes sure that she pays his balls their fair share of attention. After a few minutes, she decides to utilize her touch. She transfers his cock from her mouth to her hand and pumps it, up and down, back and forth. With every passing second, more blood rushes to the area between his legs; she can tell that his arousal has increased tenfold since she began working him. Repeatedly, low, guttural sounds form deep in his throat.

"Ziva," he moans loudly as she hits a sensitive spot beneath his head, and his pelvis jolts upwards. She bites her lip in delight, then begins to rub the place that caused such a reaction. Tony throws his head back. He lifts his arms and gropes around in the air. When he finds her shoulders, he holds tight to them. Ziva leans forward to make it easier on him, still drawing his pleasure from under his head. This is obviously what gets to him the most; he looks on the verge of convulsing and his moans are getting closer together. As she picks up speed, though, trying to bring about his peak, he suddenly says, "Stop."

She startles. "What?"

"Stop," he repeats in a strangled voice. "Let me inside you first."

Ziva slowly lets him go and tilts her head at him. This is two times now that Tony has requested this; she has never been with a man so adamant about coming in her. Usually, she is dispensable to their climaxes.

"Why?" she asks, genuinely curious.

Tony motions for her to crawl into his arms, and she does. He wants to tell her something. She settles atop him, making sure they are lined up so he can enter her when the time comes.

"I need you," he whispers, lifting one hand to explore the contours of her face. "I just… I just really _need_ you, Ziva."

Ziva worries her bottom lip. He looks like a lost little boy. She thinks about Jeanne, about Jenny, about all his pain and hers, and decides that _yes_, they need each other. Even if it will not last long.

"Okay," she murmurs, reaching between their bodies to dip him into her wet heat. There is a bit of shifting and situating required, but he is soon settled within her. Ziva kisses his throat. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

She closes her eyes as she wriggles her hips, trying to find her rhythm. He takes a moment to figure out what she is doing, then matches her movements. They fall into a steady pattern. Ziva knows when he begins throbbing between her walls that she is going to come again, but, for now, is only concerned with making sure he does. When Tony's nails dig into her ass for support, she looks up; his teeth are gritted. A vein is popping out of his forehead. She lifts herself so that only his tip remains inside her, then rams back down. Her muscles clench around him, and that does it. His entire body trembles as he spurts into her. Ziva clutches his head to her shoulder as all of his limbs sag. She kisses his hair and makes soothing noises while he recovers; once he does, he palms her cheeks and pulls back to see her face. They hold a long, heavy gaze before he flips them over so he is on top. He falls out of her as they go, and she makes a sound of discontentment. Tony quickly amends the situation. She sighs in relief.

"You are amazing," he says, gyrating his hips against hers. Ziva lifts her legs and winds them around his waist, pulling him as far into her as possible. She thinks, but cannot remember anybody else who busied himself so much with making sure she was satisfied in bed. She is not even having to work right now; he is doing all the pounding and grinding, and one of his hands has drifted to her clit and begun to move in hard, fast circles. Ziva, by now, has no reservations about making noise. She moans commands and his name and, as she inches toward climax, unintelligible things. The skill of his fingers and the penetration of his length combine to cut off all of her neural networks. All she can hear is herself, all she can see and smell is him, and her last comprehensible thought before she falls over the edge is, _We could do this forever._

She cries out, head thrown back in ecstasy, as she spasms. Tony wraps her in his embrace and cradles her as the tide washes over her and she waits for it to retreat. She does not yell again; she purses her lips and leans her forehead against his, quivering silently. He murmurs words of comfort right up against her mouth so that she can feel them even in the moments where her brain is not working well enough to comprehend them. Right now, with Tony, she feels safer than she ever has.

And as she descends from her high, it begins to sink in that tomorrow, she will be without him.

She does not realize that she is crying until he swipes at the area below her eyes and asks, "What's the matter?"

Tony removes himself from within her and sits up. He slips one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees and tugs her body, still weak, into his lap. She buries her face in his chest and tries so hard to calm down. He lifts her hair, kisses her neck.

"You have to go," she manages to say without her voice wavering too much. "And I have to go."

He takes a deep, shaky breath and holds her tighter. "Yeah."

Ziva chastises herself. She knew that letting him spend the night and make love to her would make this more difficult than it already was, yet she did it anyway. And now… now, she will have to deal with the consequences.

But if she is honest with herself, she does not regret it. Not really.

"We have a couple more hours," Tony says, and she hears tears in his voice, too. "Let's not think about it yet, okay? Let's just… stay here."

She kisses his collarbone and runs her fingers over his spine. "Okay," she whispers, and they do.

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The time comes when he has to leave. He gets out of her bed grudgingly and walks around the room and into the hallway while he collects his clothes. By the time she has pulled something on, he is fully dressed and waiting by the door.

Ziva walks up to him, takes his face in her hands, and gives him one last, long, sweet, pained kiss. She keeps her eyes open and he does the same; she can barely see through the film of moisture covering hers, but his blue-green orbs still get imprinted on her mind.

When he pulls away, he murmurs, "I love you."

And that should make everything worse, but this is actually not news to her. In the past twelve hours, she has figured it out. "I know," she says. "I love you, too."

Tony rubs his thumb over her cheekbone, and then one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "I'll see you," he says. "Someday."

"Someday," Ziva repeats, but knows that it is impossible.

Then he opens the door and slips into the mid-morning light. She does not follow him out.

Perhaps, under different circumstances, there would be hope. Perhaps she and Tony would have had a chance.

There is no real reason to dwell on it, though. Because whatever life they would have worked out in, it is not this one.

She goes into the other room to prepare for reality.

**Okay, that's a wrap. To me, this makes sense with season six canon, even though I don't REALLY think they slept together after the season five finale. That's just me. *shrugs***

**Thanks for reading, leave me a review? Pleaseee?**


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